Observations
by davros72
Summary: Someone is watching Rebecca Fogg...


TITLE: Observations  
AUTHOR: Kevin Schultz  
AUTHOR'S EMAIL: davros72@prodigy.net  
FEEDBACK: Yes, please  
PERMISSION TO ARCHIVE: I'm fine with it, just let me know where it'll be,  
that's all I ask.  
CATEGORY: General  
RATING/WARNINGS: G  
MAIN CHARACTERS: Rebecca, Jules, Phileas, Passepartout  
DISCLAIMER: SAJV and characters copyright Talisman/Promark/etc., no  
infringement is intended.  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Ah, the creativity let loose thanks to my insomnia rears its  
head once again, and you are all my victims. Read on, if you dare!  
  
  
**********  
  
Smooth. Her skin, it's so smooth. At least, I imagine it is.  
  
I've never touched it, nor have I seen it up close. At least, not in real  
life. In my daydreams, I have touched her warm, smooth skin. Many times.  
But never for real.  
  
She is Rebecca Fogg. And I? I am no one. No one of consequence. At  
least, not to Rebecca Fogg.  
  
I've watched her for the last ten months. She works for the British  
government, in their Secret Service. I have seen her come and go from her  
workplace. I have watched her as she goes home. I have watched her through  
the windows of her home. I have watched her as she leaves on her various  
missions. I have watched. But she has never seen me.  
  
Today, she arose at her normal waking time. After performing her toilet  
(and no, I will not go into detail about that, I respect her privacy too  
much to reveal such intimate details), she dressed. She put on her  
undergarments, then her dress. A delightful purple dress, frilly but not  
too frilly. She tried on two different hats, but discarded them both. She  
obviously felt neither of them were quite the perfect match for the rest of  
her outfit. Her perfectly arranged red hair was therefore spared any period  
of enforced captivity, and was allowed to tumble freely down her head and  
her neck, onto her shoulders.  
  
After dressing, she had her breakfast. Eggs, and some milk. Not too much,  
but then, she never ate very much, at least not that I ever saw. Having  
consumed her morning meal, Rebecca Fogg left her home.  
  
She hailed a passing cab outside her residence. I followed at a discreet  
distance. I'm quite nimble when I need to be. I nearly lost sight of her  
cab after about two miles, but never fear, I simply sped up, and, looking  
all around and taking in everything and assembling the necessary clues, I  
found her cab once again. She was out of my sight for less than one minute.  
  
Rebecca Fogg arrived at Secret Service Headquarters on time for work, as  
usual. She entered the building, smiling and laughing along with some men  
who were heading inside as well. I took up my usual position in the  
building across the street, and stationed myself at the window from where I  
had a perfect view inside Rebecca Fogg's office. The rooms I used were  
currently abandoned. Work was scheduled to begin to renovate them, but  
nothing was happening on that front as of yet. I dreaded the day when the  
workers would come and I would lose my hiding place.  
  
Rebecca entered her office shortly after I sat down. She leafed through  
some paperwork that was sitting on her desk, but put them down after just a  
few moments. Instead, she picked up the morning newspaper and began reading  
that instead. She seemed to chuckle at a lot of the articles inside the  
newspaper, as if she knew more about the events described within than the  
writers at the newspaper did. I suspect that she did.  
  
Rebecca soon got bored with the newspaper as well. She stood up and crossed  
over to a cupboard, opened it, and withdrew a fencing sword. She then moved  
a few pieces of furniture around so she had a bit of space to work with, and  
then stood quietly in the middle of the clearing, and closed her eyes,  
holding the fencing sword still. After about five minutes of quiet  
concentration, she suddenly lashed out with the sword. Her eyes burned like  
the fires of Hades as she spun, thrust, parried, dodged, twirled, attacked,  
defended, and performed many more moves. All told, Rebecca spent about  
forty-five minutes practicing her fencing skills.  
  
Putting her sword away, Rebecca moved her furniture back to normal, and she  
sat back down at her desk. After drumming her fingers on her desk for a few  
moments, she jumped up again, opened her office door, called out something  
to someone, and then slammed the door shut. She leaned back against the  
closed door, and smiled her special wicked-looking smile, with one raised  
eyebrow. I had seen that look before, and I knew something was up. I could  
not wait to see what would happen next.  
  
I did not have to wait long. Several minutes after Rebecca had called out,  
she opened the door, in response to a knock on the door, I assume. Through  
the open door I could see the new arrival. It was her cousin, Phileas Fogg.  
He seemed in quite a mood, and not a good one. Rebecca, however, continued  
to grin her special grin. She crossed over to her desk and sat down,  
Phileas following her into the room. He took a chair opposite from her  
across her desk and sat down. They talked for several moments, and Phileas  
shook his head several times. Rebecca just continued to talk and smile.  
Finally, Phileas heaved a great sigh, and nodded his head. Rebecca  
chuckled.  
  
The two of them stood up, and they both left her office. I took a guess as  
to where they were headed, and ran across the room to take up position at a  
different window. I arrived at the same time as the Foggs did, just when  
they entered the office of Sir Jonathan Chatsworth. Chatsworth was the head  
of the Secret Service. However, that position on occasion seemed to carry  
very little weight where Rebecca Fogg was concerned, and I guessed that this  
would be one of those times.  
  
Sir Jonathan had another visitor in his office as the Foggs arrived, a young  
blond-haired man. He was another agent, I had seen him in the headquarters  
building often. I do not know his name, but he seemed well-liked by most  
who interacted with him. He was sitting down and stood up as Rebecca and  
Phileas entered the room. From the sudden reaction of both Chatsworth and  
the agent, I assumed that the Foggs had not announced their presence nor  
knocked on the door before they entered. Rebecca did that quite often to  
Chatsworth, and I must say I do not think that he appreciated it. However,  
knowing Rebecca's value as an agent, he wisely made little of it.  
  
Once they had all greeted one another, everyone in the office sat down.  
Then the arguing began. Chatsworth and Rebecca did most of the talking.  
The blond agent interrupted on occasion, and seemed to be rather distressed  
by what was happening. Phileas merely sat quietly, once in a while rolling  
his eyes at something his cousin said.  
  
Finally, the blond agent stood up, shoved a file folder into Rebecca's  
hands, and stormed out of the office. Chatsworth stood and called out  
something, but it was clearly futile, the other agent had already left,  
slamming the door shut behind him. Chatsworth spoke with Rebecca for a bit  
longer, then dismissed her and Phileas. Rebecca left, carrying the file  
folder in her hand.  
  
The Foggs returned to their office, as I returned to my original position.  
Rebecca and Phileas spoke briefly together, then, having decided on some  
plan of action, they left her office.  
  
I headed down to the entrance to my building, and watched as Rebecca and  
Phileas left the Secret Service headquarters, once more catching a cab. I  
followed them to a nearby clearing, where Phileas Fogg's airship, the  
Aurora, was currently moored. I clambered up my favorite tree, from where I  
had a perfect view into the main cabin. I watched as Rebecca and Phileas  
entered, and were greeted by Phileas' valet, Passepartout. The dark-haired,  
goateed man scurried about, clearing away some odd trinkets that he had been  
working on, and headed up front to the steering globe.  
  
Another figure entered the main cabin, from the hallway leading towards the  
rear of the airship. It was their friend, Jules Verne. He was a writer of  
some sort, I had gathered. He was young, too. At times I had caught him  
looking longingly at my Rebecca. But I did not fear the young Frenchman.  
He was not Rebecca's type. She would be more interested in a man of action,  
a man of danger, a man of mystery. Not a simple youth such as Jules Verne.  
  
With Passepartout at the controls, Rebecca, Phileas and Jules walked forward  
and took up positions at the main window. They looked out at their  
surroundings as the Aurora slowly rose into the air.  
  
Rebecca Fogg was on assignment once again. And unfortunately, I was no  
longer able to follow her. I used to be able to follow the Aurora to  
whatever its destination was. But recently I had fallen out of favor with  
my employers.  
  
They seemed to think I was "malfunctioning". Indeed, I was marked down to  
be destroyed. However, I was too clever for Them, and I snuck away when no  
one was looking. No matter that I overheard Them say, "Let him go, he's  
broken... useless... he's no longer a threat to anyone but himself." I had  
outwitted Them all. Broken? Me? Ha!  
  
I had run from my former employers and gone straight to where I felt most  
comfortable. Watching Rebecca Fogg. I had done it many times before, and I  
would continue to do it as long as I lived.  
  
My vision seemed to be less sharp and less focused than when I was working  
for Them. My hearing also was not what it used to be. I didn't understand  
why. No matter. I could still see and hear in the ordinary manner, just  
like everyone else. I could still watch my Rebecca.  
  
I could watch her eat, drink, sleep. I could hear her laugh, I could hear  
her shout.  
  
I longed to touch her, just to let her know I was there, that I was watching  
out for her, that I would never let her get hurt. I would protect her from  
Them. I would not let Them get near her, as long as I was alive. I would  
never let Them touch her, never let Them blemish her perfect skin.  
  
Smooth. Her skin is so smooth. I wish I could touch her, I wish I could  
confirm that it is in fact as smooth as I imagine it to be. As I hope it  
is.  
  
But she would never let me get near her. She would think I was still  
working for Them.  
  
She would never let an Observer from the League of Darkness get close to  
her.  
  
I made myself comfortable up in my tree, and waited for my Rebecca to return  
from her new mission...  
  
  
...THE END... 


End file.
